Intimate Skirmishes
by nehalenia
Summary: All Ishida had wanted was for Kurosaki to look at him. Now, it seemed like Kurosaki couldn't stop looking at him. Where is this love/hate relationship going to end up? Ichigo x Ishida.
1. Ishida Uryuu, Quincy I hate Shinigami

Ichigo x Ishida, NC17

This was written for LJ's Live Long n Marry comm, which tried to help defeat Prop 8 in CA.

Warnings: swearing, fighting, boysmex and reiatsu kink

Disclaimer: Bleach and all characters belong to Kubo-san.

_1. Ishida Uryuu. Quincy. I hate Shinigami._

From the night he sat straight up in bed, startled awake by a burst of reiatsu so powerful he felt it halfway across Karakura, Ishida Uryuu had been waiting.

Waiting for Kurosaki Ichigo to notice him.

He'd known there was something odd about the other boy the first time he'd seen him, but it wasn't until that night that he understood what it was. That astounding explosion of reiatsu told him everything he needed to know. Kurosaki had become a Shinigami.

Ishida watched him in class the next day – the strange boy with the angry eyebrows and the ridiculous hair that everyone said was dyed. He sat slumped at his desk, just like he did every other day, as if nothing at all had happened the night before, now and then shooting a glare at the tiny female Shinigami who sat beside him pretending to be a new transfer student. Every time Kurosaki's head turned, Ishida expected those squinting eyes to glide past the petite Shinigami and seek him out. He had to know the Quincy was there, after all, didn't he?

Ishida waited impatiently to feel the tingle of Kurosaki's spirit force focusing on him. He imagined the way it would happen; how the Shinigami would straighten from his slump and slowly turn his head, how their eyes would meet over the heads of their classmates, how Kurosaki's expression would darken, and how each would incline his head just slightly, acknowledging the other's presence with the promise of a challenge.

It didn't happen. Not that day, or the next, or even the next. Ishida's impatience grew as Kurosaki remained as bored and blind and stupid as he'd always been. The only difference was his spirit force. Instead of being honed and restrained – a sharpened sword waiting in its scabbard, as Ishida's was – Kurosaki's reiatsu was wild and unstable, broadcasting static like a radio stuck between channels. It grated on his every nerve, and Ishida wanted to clutch his head and scream at the Shinigami to stop it. He wanted to demand what kind of an idiot couldn't control his own reiatsu, but instead he gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore it, refusing to let a Shinigami think he'd gotten the best of a Quincy.

The days became weeks, and, impossible as it seemed, Ishida was forced to conclude that Kurosaki simply couldn't detect his spiritual presence. Since Kurosaki also seemed completely oblivious to his physical presence, Ishida decided that something had to be done. The pride of the Quincy demanded it.

He started stealing Kurosaki's prey. Not difficult to do considering that Ishida could sense the Hollows before Kurosaki and even Kuchiki-san were aware of them, and destroy them at long range. _It will be soon,_ he smirked, privately noting the two Shinigami's growing frustration, as well as their heated conversations in the hallways and school yard. _Soon,_ he assured himself, even while Kurosaki's glare skated over him as if he wasn't there.

It was when they touched that Ishida Uryuu knew this game had to end. He had perceived a new Hollow and was making his way to the stairs when Kuchiki-san had gone tearing by with a protesting Ichigo in tow. Their shoulders bumped. "Sorry!" Kurosaki called out as he pelted by, or maybe it was "Excuse me!", or perhaps he said nothing at all. Ishida couldn't be sure, because the surge of reiatsu that went through him when they touched numbed all his other senses. Like lightning, it momentarily blinded him to everything but the feel of that raw power shocking into him, and it was only through sheer force of will – through stubborn Quincy pride – that Ishida brushed his shoulder off as if nothing had happened and kept walking. He only stopped when the two of them were out of sight. He could still feel the echo of Kurosaki's spiritual pressure.

Yes, it was definitely time to end this game. A new contest was about to begin, and this one, Ishida Uryuu knew, would be in earnest.


	2. I am your opponent!

_2. I am your opponent..._

It was satisfying, Ishida had to admit. After months of Kurosaki's utter disregard, the hot-headed Shinigami's confusion and outrage were more than gratifying. They were delicious. Provoking Ichigo turned out to be a pleasure Ishida had not fully anticipated, and while he normally prided himself on his restraint, he found he couldn't get enough of this particular dish.

He'd known his pride was hungry, but Ishida hadn't guessed how truly ravenous it was. He should have realized that once he had Kurosaki's attention, he wouldn't be able to let it go; that taking fresh meat from a starving tiger would have been easier than not snapping that Hollow bait and following through with his plan.

Just so, he had challenged Kurosaki and scattered the bait, certain of himself and his own power, only to find his starving-tiger pride with more prey than it could bring down. Before long, blood had been running from his fingers and his pride was on unsteady ground. He told himself he had to keep going – that the pride of the Quincy demanded it – but it was stubbornness and fear that kept him killing Hollows: the fear of having anyone else's blood on his hands.

There were so many Hollows. Ishida couldn't believe the bait had brought them all – that he alone was responsible for this invasion – but that was certainly what Ichigo thought; what he accused him of when they finally found each other. That was when Ishida began to realize then how foolish he had been – not just in bringing so many Hollows down on Karakura, but in thinking that he could be satisfied with such a contest. _Whoever defeats the most Hollows in 24 hours wins. Agreed?_

Had he really believed a faceless challenge would satisfy him? That he and Kurosaki would tally their kills, and that would be that? _Look at me, damn you!_ his heart had screamed when he pointed his bow at Kurosaki. _I'm your enemy! Look at me!_ Ichigo had cut his arrow out of the air in one swift slash. When the Shinigami turned to face him, Ishida felt a terrible joy leap inside him. He finally had Kurosaki's sole attention.

Then the sky had cracked open, and after that, nothing had happened the way Ishida had thought it would.


	3. I always thought I'll never let him go

_3. I always thought "I'll never let him go."_

Ishida Uryuu closed his apartment door and collapsed against it, too exhausted to even remove his shoes. In the aftermath of the Menos attack, he had left the battlefield unnoticed and made his way home. He didn't remember walking, he didn't even remember unlocking and opening his door. He remembered what happened at the battlefield, though. He could still feel it inside him. It was probably the only thing keeping him upright.

Kurosaki Ichigo. His reiatsu. His incredible crazy power. Ishida had felt it burning around him and through him, and when Ichigo couldn't control it any longer, he had taken that impossible spirit force inside himself and channelled it through his bow, loosing bolt after bolt into the sky while the reiatsu cut his flesh like blades.

Kurosaki had told him to stop it, that his arm was going to be torn off. He didn't know the half of it. Ichigo couldn't see what the reiatsu was doing inside Ishida; couldn't see it blazing through him like a wildfire, searing everything it touched. And it touched everything – his heart, his lungs, his guts, and lower down, the strange fire surging into channels and inlets of his body that he hadn't known existed and setting them alight. Even when the power had finally dissipated, the frisson of its passing left him trembling, tingling and raw.

Raw. It hurt. Something hurt. Not the cuts on his hands and arms – he could barely feel them. He only realized they were there because of the blood. This was deeper, this was—

He caught his breath when he looked down – past his blood-speckled shirt, past his strangely pristine tie – and saw the bulge in his pants. Hard. He was hard. Excited. Aroused. Intensely so. And he couldn't tell himself he didn't know why or how, because the afterimage of Kurosaki's spirit force was still throbbing inside him, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew.

His head fell back with a small whimper and he squeezed his eyes shut, thinking _It was just the reiatsu, just that there was so much of it—too much. This doesn't mean anything, it's just an aberration. Just like Kurosaki. _But even as he rationalized, his bloody fingers were fumbling with his zipper, pushing down his underwear and freeing his erection. Ishida hissed as he grasped his swollen length, suddenly aware of how badly he needed this, frightened of how long he had needed it – _not in front of Kurosaki, please God, I wasn't hard in front of Kurosaki_ – and wincing as the feeling came back to his stinging fingers.

It didn't matter how badly his hand hurt – it could have been broken and it wouldn't have mattered – because once he had touched his rigid cock, there was no way he could stop. He pressed back into the door and groaned, gripping so hard he couldn't feel the cuts, and pumped himself with rough, uneven strokes. He tried to clear his mind, tried to think of nothing but the sensations – his tight fist around his cock, the moisture seeping from the tip, his foreskin slipping faster, easier as his hand speeded up – but it didn't work. The remnants of Kurosaki's reiatsu sang inside him, building to a pitch, and the only thing he could see was Kurosaki's angry, blood-splattered, stupid, passionate face.

His climax hit so suddenly that he cried out as he came – something Ishida never allowed himself to do – but even with his semen pulsing over his hand, he didn't slow down. He kept pumping until his balls were empty and his dick was almost as sore as his hand. He kept it up until he was nearly weeping because he wanted it out, wanted it gone, wanted to exorcise every trace of that reiatsu from his body.

He wanted Kurosaki out of his system.

He couldn't stop the whimper that crept from his throat as he slid down the door, unable to hold himself up any longer. His long legs sprawled without any grace, and when he took his hand from his wilting cock, his palm was slick with blood and come.

"Shit," he muttered. His eyes were stinging, and he squeezed them shut. He wouldn't allow himself tears – not even tears of anger and frustration. After all, he'd done this to himself, hadn't he? He'd challenged Kurosaki, he'd snapped the Hollow bait. It was his fault the sky had cracked open, his fault that Ichigo's reiatsu had gone out of control, and his fault that Ichigo had nearly died. It was his choice to take that wild lightning into his own body, to channel and disperse it, and his fault he'd had to make that choice.

His fault that he could still feel Kurosaki inside him.

"Shit," he whispered again, his head falling forward in defeat. When he felt hot tears drip one by one onto his open palms, he told himself it was blood.


	4. I see, those two are a lot alike

4. _I see. Those two are a lot alike._

All Ishida Uryuu had wanted for weeks and weeks was for Kurosaki Ichigo to look at him.

Now the idiot wouldn't stop looking at him.

He'd felt the burn of that glare the moment he'd walked into the classroom at third period. His seat felt warm when he took his place at his desk, and he knew Kurosaki had to have been staring at his empty chair all morning. His skin prickled when he sat down. Something inside him flickered. Ishida gritted his teeth, ignored it and took out his text book.

He didn't know why he'd agreed to eat lunch with the stupid Shinigami and his even more stupid friends. He'd said no, and he'd meant to stick by that, but the second time Kurosaki asked, he found his mouth saying yes. Before he knew it, he was sitting in hot, uncomfortable silence on the school roof, chewing food that he couldn't even taste while Asano stumbled his way through a story. To him it only sounded like the buzzing of an insect, because Kurosaki was sitting too damn close and all he could feel or hear or taste was the pulse of that reiatsu.

Ishida sneaked a glance at Kurosaki. The Shinigami frowned even while he ate, his eyebrows nearly touching each other as he jammed pieces of fish and rice into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed resolutely, as if eating lunch was a duty he had to perform. When he saw Ishida's eyes on him, his glare deepened.

"Stop looking at me," Ichigo told him.

"You stop looking at me," Ishida countered.

"I wasn't!"

"Were too."

Kurosaki's growl of frustration as he turned away made Ishida feel better.

But not by much.

Ishida couldn't really say why he went back to the roof after classes were finished. He told himself he was scanning for Hollows but he knew that was a poor excuse. A Quincy didn't need to look for Hollows, he could feel them. Besides, after yesterday's battle and the intervention of that strange shopkeeper and his even stranger assistants, he didn't think there were any Hollows left in Karakura. He certainly couldn't detect any. That was bound to change, but for now, things were oddly quiet.

"Hey."

Ishida knew Ichigo was there before he announced himself. His reiatsu arrived ahead of him, nudging Ishida like a curious dog and sticking its nose in inappropriate places. Ishida gripped the narrow bars of the fence that surrounded the roof, letting the pain in his bandaged fingers distract him from the touch of that undisciplined reiatsu. He turned to look at Kurosaki, who was squinting into the afternoon sunlight and scuffing his fingers through his spiky hair. He glanced around the roof, seeming oddly uncertain.

"You alone up here?"

"Of course," Ishida said. "Who would I be with?" He returned to scanning the Karakura rooftops, feeling vaguely superior to Kurosaki once more. He might have an ungodly powerful spirit force, but he still couldn't sense other people – something Ishida had been able to do as a child. "What do you want, Kurosaki?" he asked as the Shinigami joined him at the edge of the building.

"I wanted to see if you're all right," he frowned. "You were cut up pretty bad yesterday, but you just ditched us without even telling anyone. What was that all about?"

"Why would I tell anyone?" Ishida snorted, tightening his grip on the bars. Kurosaki's spirit force was bothering him – prodding, questing, searching for something; maybe for a way back inside – and he was finding it difficult to ignore. "It's not anybody's business where I go. Especially not yours, Shinigami."

"Do you always have to be such an asshole?" Kurosaki demanded, glaring at him. "Is it part of your Quincy code, or just something you came up with on your own?" Ishida caught his breath as he felt Ichigo's reiatsu contract around him. The pressure was increasing, and he could feel his heart speeding up.

"I'm fine, Kurosaki," he gritted out, desperate for the Shinigami to leave. "That's what you wanted to know, right?"

"You don't look fine," Kurosaki said stubbornly. "In fact, you look like you're about to fall over, and you have all day."

"Why do you care?" Ishida snapped, losing his patience. "Do you think just because we joined forces yesterday that we're friends or something? Wasn't I clear enough. I told you – I hate Shinigami. I hate you! I figured that was simple enough even for you—." Ishida gasped as he felt Kurosaki's anger flare, and his spirit force clamped down on him like a trap, fierce and sudden. He couldn't catch his breath – couldn't breathe at all, it was so strong – and he felt Kurosaki's irritation stinging through his reiatsu like alcohol on his cuts.

"You're a real prick, do you know that?" Ichigo stormed, clenching his fists. "What the hell is wrong with you? You don't even know me! You don't know what I'm like, or what my family is like, or—Ishida!"

Ishida didn't have enough breath to tell Kurosaki to stop. His lungs were constricting and his heart was being squeezed in a vice because Kurosaki's reiatsu was crushing him, flooding him, invading him all over again. He tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn't work anymore, and he hadn't any breath for words anyway. He watched with a displaced sense of panic as his fingers opened and let go of the bars. He felt himself falling, sinking, going under – drowning in the fierce swell of Kurosaki's power.

"Ishida! Ishida, what the hell?"

Strong hands caught his shoulders and hauled him up out of the depths, shook him and then steadied him. Ichigo's face swam before him, still frowning but now full of anxiety.

"Ishida, what the fuck happened?"

"Reiatsu," Ishida managed to whisper. "Let—go." Ichigo stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then his eyes went wide.

"You mean? Oh—oh shit! Wait—wait, I can do this." He saw the other boy close his eyes and take a breath, saw his face relax – funny, without the permanent scowl, it hardly looked like Kurosaki – and then the pressure eased so suddenly that Ishida collapsed. He went to his knees, dragging Kurosaki down with him.

"I didn't know," Ichigo was saying as Ishida gasped, sucking in breath after breath. "I'm sorry. Fuck, Ishida, I didn't know—had no idea that—." Ichigo's face was right in front of his, close enough for Ishida to see his lips stumbling over his words. His reiatsu had backed off, but Ishida could still feel it prowling around him. It was still interested, it still wanted something. It wanted inside, Ishida realized, and for no reason that he could articulate, he found that he wanted to let it in. Ichigo was staring at Ishida with worried brown eyes, and at that moment it seemed perfectly natural for Ishida to lean forward and press their lips together.

There was a moment of perfect balance – a moment when Kurosaki's questing reiatsu went still and calm; a moment when all the torn places inside Ishida stopped aching – but it was over too soon. Over when he heard the hitch in Ichigo's breath, felt the rough lips close against his, and strong hands strike his chest and shove him back.

"What the hell!"

Kurosaki's punch sent him flying. His shoulders and the back of his head hit the hard rooftop, and he skidded backward from the force, scraping his elbows raw as he tried to stop his momentum.

"What the fuck was that, Ishida?" Kurosaki panted, getting to his feet and backing away. "I mean—what the fuck?"

Ishida just lay there, too stunned by his fall to respond; too stunned to feel shame at what he'd done, or even to wonder why he'd done it. He watched mutely as Ichigo dragged the back of his fist across his mouth. His expression was a mixture of confusion and disgust.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Kurosaki muttered, just before he turned and stalked away, slamming the door to the stairwell as he left.

Ishida lay there, the sun warm on his face, bits of gravel digging into his elbows, until Kurosaki's reiatsu had completely faded and he could breathe again. He struggled up, wincing at both his new and reopened wounds, and held his head for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Kurosaki's horrified words rang in his mind, and he gave a bitter laugh as he pushed himself to his knees.

"You want to know what the hell is wrong with me?" Ishida asked, nursing his bloody elbows and wondering if he could make it home. "You are, Kurosaki Ichigo. You're what's wrong with me."


	5. I repeat, Who the hell are you?

5. _I repeat, "Who the hell are you?"_

He was about to die by a Shinigami blade, but Ishida Uryuu felt no fear. All he could muster was a deep disgust with himself for allowing this to happen.

He saw the blade swing up, flashing just out of his field of vision, and heard the name of the Shinigami who was going to kill him: Abarai Renji. No, he wouldn't forget that name, not that he'd have more than a few seconds to remember it. He refused to close his eyes, refused to meet death blindly, but just as Abarai Renji's katana swept down, a larger sword blocked its path, cracking the pavement into rubble and churning up a cloud of dust.

Kurosaki Ichigo had come out of nowhere to stand between him and certain death, barring Abarai Renji's blade and driving the boastful Shinigami back. He knew, of course, that Kurosaki must have come to save Rukia, and that his own salvation was merely happenstance, but even so, he should have been glad of it.

He didn't feel glad, though. Relieved, yes, he would admit that, but to be saved from one Shinigami by another? For a Quincy, it was an embarrassment. Especially when that Shinigami was Kurosaki Ichigo, the guy who hadn't spoken to him since that afternoon on the school roof, when they had—when _he_ had—.

No, he couldn't think about it. The shame of it – of this, and of everything that had happened since he'd challenged Kurosaki – made him want to curl up like paper in a fire. He considered that it might have been better if this Abarai Renji person had simply killed him, if Ichigo had just let him die. Of course, given the pain from the wound in his abdomen and the pool of blood growing on the sidewalk, he might yet.

Ishida didn't want to die that way. Not lying helpless in his own blood. Not after being saved by Kurosaki. He bit his lip against the pain and tried to move, tried to push himself up. He wanted to see if he could still form a bow, if he had enough strength to do anything. He managed to lift his head, and then—felt it being pushed down.

He inhaled sharply, sending a spike of pain from his wound deep into his chest, because Kurosaki's reiatsu was there – it was all around him – pressing his cheek to the walkway and holding him still. Warmer than the summer night, it slid over him like a coarse blanket or a rough, impatient caress; like callused fingers with bitten nails grazing his face and carding lightly through his hair. Ishida's heart pounded because he could hear the clash of zanpakutous and the taunts of battle as the two Shinigami went at it. Kurosaki hadn't said a word to him – hadn't even mentioned him lying there – but somehow Ishida could feel the message in the reiatsu wrapped around him.

_Stay down, you dumbass. You have to live. Do you hear me? You have to live._


	6. In the town of the drifting spirits

6. _In the town of drifting spirits _

Ishida wasn't the sort of person who invited touch. He knew this. He had vague memories of his mother holding him when he was small, and he could still sometimes feel the supportive weight of his sensei's hand on his shoulder, but the only times he remembered Ryuuken touching him were when he'd hurt himself badly enough to need treatment. Even then his father's touch had been cold and clinical, handling him only as much as necessary to treat the wound. Aside from the most casual contact, Ishida thought he could probably count the times he remembered being touched.

That is, until he'd met Kurosaki Ichigo. What with the grabbing and shaking, the punching and kicking and colliding during battle, he'd been touched – if you could call that sort of manhandling 'touching' – by Kurosaki more in the last few weeks than by anyone else in the past few years. Add to that Sado-kun ripping him away from the Kouryuu in the _dangai_ tunnel and then carrying him all the way into Soul Society, and maybe that explained why he didn't feel particularly bothered by the sensation of hands on his body.

Hands that were _doing_ things to him.

Ishida had never had a massage before but this, he thought, must be what one felt like. The strong, heavy hands that pressed him into the soft darkness weren't gentle, but neither were they brusque. Their strokes were firm and slow – a little awkward, as if still learning their way around his limbs and muscles, but with an energy that heated his flesh as they moved over him. It felt good – incredibly good. So good that he didn't care who or what was touching him – kneading his shoulders, digging fingers into the backs of his thighs, caressing his ribs with a pressure that almost tickled but didn't quite. It felt so good that when the hands were joined by the sensation of warm breath on the back of his neck and a tongue sliding down his spine, his only protest was a soft whimper.

There were no voices, only hands, breath and tongues – one moving down his back, one tracing the shell of his ear. The hands stroking his sides curled under his chest, and he felt callused fingertips scrape over his nipples, circling them until they firmed. He hadn't known his nipples could feel like that, and it was so strange that he couldn't help squirming, unsure whether he was trying to get away from the rough, teasing fingers or beg for more. He was so focused on that stimulation that he didn't think to complain when his hips were lifted and his legs pushed apart, but when a warm, wet tongue slid up the underside of his balls, he froze at the shock of pleasure it sent through him.

Ishida moaned and dug his fingers into the soft darkness, trying to stay still as the tongue laved his scrotum and teased at the seam because, dear god, was anything supposed to feel that good? He couldn't stop himself from whimpering as his balls were licked and sucked and rolled, and he caught his breath at the tightness in his groin as his cock filled and hardened. Dizzy from the rush of blood, Ishida pushed back into that ministering tongue, then felt his dick caught in a firm grip as the moist tip of another tongue started to explore the head.

It was too much to take in. He could sense hands and mouths all over him now – working his cock, tonguing his balls, pinching his nipples, stroking his belly, raking nails down his back, sucking on his throat – and the pleasure of it was almost more than he could bear. He whined and started to thrash, trying to break free, but this only made the hands and mouths more insistent – holding him tighter, working him harder – and part of him was glad he couldn't escape. His mind and body had become a battlefield for _Let me go_ vs. _Hold me down_ and the overload of sensation was building to a crescendo that Ishida wasn't sure he could survive.

It was when he felt the tongue slide up the cleft of his ass and bathe his tight opening – felt his cheeks pulled apart, felt the blunt, frightening pressure of something large and thick and heavy trying to push its way _inside_ him, felt it trying to open him, take him, fuck him, _possess_ him – that he lost it. Panic filled him like cold fire and he struggled to get free, fighting off the sensations and finally breaking the grip of both pleasure and fear as he tumbled back into chilly darkness.

Gasping, Ishida tore himself out of his dream and sat straight up, immediately smacking his forehead into something hard and painful. Light burst behind his eyes and he fell back, grabbing his head. He could hear someone cursing, and once the pain subsided, he rolled to his side and saw the blurred shape of Kurosaki floundering on the floor.

"Damn it, Ishida!" the boy snarled, pushing himself up. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"Why the hell were you on top of me like that, you idiot?" Ishida countered. He fumbled for his glasses and pulled himself up, scooting as far away from Kurosaki as he could while still staying on his futon. The central hearth in the guest house had burned down to embers, but there was enough light for him to see. Kurosaki was sitting on the bare floor, holding his head and scowling at Ishida. He was wearing only his hakama, and the sight of his bare chest and tight-muscled stomach sent a weird pang from Ishida's chest straight down to his groin. His body was still buzzing from the intense pleasure of his dream, and Kurosaki was far too close for his comfort.

"I was worried about you, dumbass," Kurosaki shot back. "You were moaning and thrashing around. I thought you might be hurt or something."

"I wasn't hurt when I went to sleep, was I?" Ishida snapped. "Why on earth would I be hurt?"

"I don't know!" Kurosaki hissed. "And keep it down, would you?" he added, cutting his eyes to where Chad and Inoue slept on the other side of the fire pit. They waited to see if either had been awakened, but Inoue didn't stir and the low buzz of Chad's soft snores went on uninterrupted. Satisfied, Kurosaki crossed his legs and began to prod experimentally at the bridge of his nose, muttering "You'd better not have given me a black eye."

"I hope I have," Ishida snorted softly. "It would serve you right."

"See if I ever worry about you again, bastard," Kurosaki said. "I was just trying to see if you were okay."

"It was just a dream, Kurosaki," Ishida grumbled, tugging at his sheet to straighten it out. He too was wearing only his pants – his tunic and mantle were folded neatly by his futon where they wouldn't get wrinkled – and he shivered briefly, the night air cool on his skin despite the banked fire.

"Is that what that Renji guy did to you?" Ishida flinched at Kurosaki's sudden closeness. He was leaning over with his head cocked, peering at the long scar across Ishida's abdomen. The intensity of his gaze made Ishida feel far too exposed, and when Kurosaki reached out to trace the red line of the healing sword slash with a rough finger tip, Ishida's fingers twisted in the sheet.

"Stop it," he whispered, catching Kurosaki's hand and pushing it away.

"What the deal? I can't even touch you?" Ishida heard the irritable challenge in Kurosaki's voice, and that made him shiver all over again.

"You're too familiar, Kurosaki," Ishida told him, turning away as he started to pull the sheet up.

"I'm familiar?" he snorted. "That's pretty funny coming from you."

Ishida threw him a dark look. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I don't know." Kurosaki's voice had a sarcastic edge. "I'd say kissing a guy is a lot more familiar than poking someone in the stomach, wouldn't you?"

Ishida went very still. He felt his heart beat three times before he remembered to breathe again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, then yanked the sheet up, lay down and turned his back to Kurosaki. The other boy didn't move. Ishida could feel him still crouched beside him and knew he was fuming.

"What the hell kind of answer is that?" he demanded. "Are you just going to act like it didn't happen?"

That was, in fact, exactly Ishida's intention. "Go to bed, Kurosaki," he told him in a bored voice.

"I get it." The voice was closer now, softer but sharper. He could almost feel Ichigo's breath on the back of his neck. "You're scared. That's it, isn't it? Mr. Big Shot Quincy is scared. You'll put everyone in danger just so you can face down a mess of Hollows and prove what a tough guy you are, but you won't own up to what you did to me on the roof, will you?"

"What I did to you?" Ishida flung his covers off and sat up, glaring at Kurosaki. It took every ounce of his will power to not simply summon his bow and shoot the Shinigami right through his scowling face. "I wouldn't have done anything at all if you'd ever learn to control your stupid reiatsu!"

"Wait—you're saying it's my fault? That my reiatsu did something to make you kiss me?" A flicker of uncertainty ran briefly over his stubborn, angry expression but then vanished. "Give me a break, Ishida. That's low. Why don't you just admit that you wanted to kiss me and be done with i—."

Ishida didn't give Kurosaki a chance to finish his sentence. He launched himself at the other boy, hitting him just under the chest so that the air went out of Kurosaki's lungs in a surprised whoosh. Ishida's momentum carried them both to the floor, where Kurosaki's head made a satisfying thump. The look of shock on his face when Ishida pinned his arms was sublime.

"Considering the things that your reiatsu has been doing to me, Kurosaki, " Ishida hissed, leaning close and staring straight into his startled brown eyes, "I don't think _I'm_ the one who needs to admit anything!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ichigo retorted. He tried to push Ishida off him, but Ishida's anger seemed to give him extra weight and strength.

"You may be too witless to control your spirit force," Ishida sneered, "but how can you not know what it's doing? Even you can't be that dense."

"I told you I suck at sensing shit like that!" Ichigo growled, flexing his muscles and trying to twist out from under Ishida. "If you think it's messing with you, it's not because _I_ want it to!"

"I don't think you know _what _you want, Kurosaki," Ishida snorted, shifting to keep the other boy trapped under him.

"I know I want you to get the fuck off of me, you freak!" With that, Ichigo managed to wrench one arm free, then grabbed Ishida's hair and yanked his head to the side. Ishida lost his balance, Ichigo jolted one of his knees out from under him, and Ishida fell flat on top of Kurosaki, head to chin, chest to chest and crotch to crotch.

Both boys froze at the same moment. Ishida couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, could barely process a thought. The only thing he _could_ process was the feel of the very large, impossibly hard bulge in Kurosaki's hakama, and the hot, insistent way it was pressing against his own insanely hard dick.

Ishida didn't dare move. To move would be to rub against that thick length just beneath his own, and Ishida feared that even that much friction would send him over the edge. _Get up!_ his brain kept telling him, but his body wouldn't obey. Getting up would mean moving into a future where he and Kurosaki knew the truth about each other; a truth that Ishida was sure neither was ready to admit.

"Shit." Kurosaki's voice was faint, almost a whimper. Ishida felt his fingers tremble as they unwound from his hair, and then Kurosaki's hands were on his hips. Ishida waited, breathless, because he knew those hands were poised to make a decision. They were about to take hold of his hips, and when they did, Ishida knew they would either pull him closer or throw him off. Either way, it would be the end of something. Maybe the end of everything.

"K—Kurosaki-kun?"

Inoue-san's sleepy voice coming from across the room broke the spell that held them both. Ishida hadn't realized he could use _hirenkyaku_ over such a short distance, but that was the only way he could explain having got off of Kurosaki and back to his own futon so fast. He knelt there, breathing hard, afraid to answer and afraid to look beside him.

"Kurosaki-kun?" He could hear Inoue-san stirring on her futon. "I thought I heard something. Are you and Ishida-kun all right?"

"Yeah," Kurosaki grunted. "It's nothing, Inoue." His voice sounded tight. Ishida could tell he was back on his futon, and suddenly, the thought of lying there that close to Kurosaki after everything that had happened was intolerable.

"I—I have to go out," Ishida heard himself saying. He felt strangely detached, as if he were operating his body from a remote location, looking on as he picked up his tunic and pulled it over his head, then grabbed his mantle and rose, heading for the door.

"Ishida-kun?" He saw Inoue-san kneeling on her futon, blinking her wide eyes in the dim light and looking confused.

"Ah—don't worry," Ishida told her as he pushed at the door. "I just—uhm—have to go. You know." Even though he was lying, he blushed.

"Oh. Oh—of course!" Inoue replied with a little nervous giggle, but he was already ducking out the door and going down the steps.

He didn't know where to go – he didn't know if they even had bathrooms in the Rukongai, but then, it didn't really matter. Ishida didn't need a bathroom. He just needed to get away. He walked down the wide alley between the dwellings, trying to get as far from the elder's guest house as he could without losing his way. When he had gone a fair distance, Ishida ducked into the empty shadows between two houses. Leaning on the rough planks, he buried his face in his right arm, pulled up his tunic and reached into his pants. He hissed when he drew out his swollen cock. Had it ever been this hard? His fingers were trembling he grasped his hot shaft and started to tug.

It didn't take long. All he had to do was remember how Kurosaki's dick had felt – like a length of hot steel pipe pressing up against his own – and he came, his seed spattering against a stranger's house as he muffled a whimper in his sleeve.

Ishida leaned there gasping, semen dripping from his fingers as his cock softened. It should have made him feel better, but it didn't. It didn't change anything. He knew he would have to go back to the elder's house. He knew he would have to face Kurosaki again.

But it didn't have to be right now.


	7. This meaningless skirmishmust end now

7. _This meaningless skirmish . . . must end now._

Ishida stuck his needle into the hem he was trying to finish and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. The last time he had looked up, there had been two nurses from the 4th Division making bandages at one of the other tables, but they were gone now. He must have been too intent on his sewing to notice when they left. The windows showed that the afternoon was almost gone, the light going dim as the sun faded. Still, he thought he had enough time to finish his mantle before it got too dark.

He adjusted his glasses and peered at his stitches to make sure they were even. He didn't want to give Soul Society too much credit, but he appreciated being allowed the use of their sewing room. The clothes he had made for Chad and Inoue-san were already neatly folded in the basket one of the 4th Division officers – he couldn't remember the little guy's name, for some reason – had found for him. Kurosaki didn't need Living World clothes – there were Shinigami uniforms a-plenty for him here. He only needed to finish replacing his Quincy uniform, and he would be ready to go home.

Home. Ishida let the fabric drop onto the table and sat back on his heels. _Why am I doing this?_ he asked himself, not for the first time that day. He'd lost his powers. He'd never fight as a Quincy again. Why was he going to this much trouble over something he would never wear again? He let his head fall forward, catching sight of his fists clenched on his thighs. White hands on black fabric. The Shinigami robe they had given him to wear was comfortable and, he had to admit, well-made, even by his standards. The only problem was... it was a Shinigami robe.

No, troublesome or not, he had entered Soul Society as a Quincy and he was going to leave as one. He might have been stripped of his powers, but his pride was still intact. He would go out just as he had come in, dressed in Quincy whites.

Even if that was the only thing about him that was the same.

"There you are."

Ishida looked up and felt his heart lurch. Kurosaki was standing in the doorway. Ishida hadn't even sensed his approach. Kurosaki, whose reiatsu was always blaring like loud music from a car window in stalled traffic. How could he not have known he was there? His stomach twisted at the thought – had he lost that ability along with everything else?

"Kurosaki?" Ishida finally remember to speak. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in the 4th Division."

"Ah, I'm fine now," Kurosaki said, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind him as he glanced around. He looked like he always did – annoyingly orange hair, bored face one squint away from a scowl – but Ishida couldn't help remembering how he'd looked a few days ago, his face pale and blood-splattered beneath the glow of Inoue-san's healing shield. Ishida had knelt by his head, staring at him and silently praying _Don't die, Kurosaki. Don't you dare die! I won't forgive you if you do._

"So are Chad and Inoue around?" Kurosaki's voice brought his attention back to the present. He blinked the image away.

"They're at the 8th Division, I think. Captain Kyouraku came and invited everyone to dinner," he answered, picking up his sewing again.

"That's the big guy in the pink robe, right?" Kurosaki frowned in thought. "The one that likes sake?"

"That's him," Ishida nodded.

"Huh. So why aren't you there?"

"I wanted to finish this," Ishida shrugged. "You could go join them, you know. There's no reason for you to miss out on a nice dinner."

"Nah. I'm not really interested in food right now."

"That seems unusual. So what are you interested in?" Ishida was counting his stitches and didn't notice that Ichigo had moved closer until he sat down on the low worktable almost in front of Ishida.

"Talking to you," he said. Ishida eyed the Shinigami briefly. Sitting this close, he could feel the faint prickle of Kurosaki's power on his skin, but it was nothing like the unruly reiatsu he usually exuded. Ishida shifted uncomfortably, wondering again what had changed. Was it him? Or was this something to do with Kurosaki?

"What's brought on this sudden fit of sociability?" Ishida frowned, then paused and looked more closely at Kurosaki's eyes. "Are they still giving you painkillers?"

"No," Ichigo huffed. "Stop being such a dork all the time. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Ishida said, looking back down at his sewing. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ichigo watched him sew for a moment, then said "Captain Ukitake told me you had a couple of pretty hard fights. I heard you took down a captain."

Ishida's needle paused. "So?"

"So I figured I'd come over and we could compare battle scars."

"Compare scars?" Ishida looked up to see what almost looked like a smile on the other boy's face. "Kurosaki, only troglodytes do that sort of chest-thumping." Really, there was no hope for the guy.

Ichigo leaned back on his hands and looked Ishida up and down. "I'll bet mine are bigger."

Ishida pursed his lips and kept sewing. "Considering that you fought three psychotic devils to my one, and then almost got cut in half by another, I'm sure they are. More numerous, too, I expect."

"Hey, wait a minute." Kurosaki screwed up his face in concentration. "I fought more psychotic devils than that."

"I was excluding Captain Kuchiki."

"Oh." Ichigo chewed that over, then shrugged. "Yeah, alright, I'll give you that one. Yeah, I got cut up some, but I didn't fight any mad scientist types, like I heard you did. I figured maybe your scars were more interesting."

Interesting. Yes, Ishida supposed he did have some 'interesting' scars from that encounter, but the bad ones weren't on his skin. They weren't where Kurosaki could see them at all, even if he had wanted to show them off. Ishida realized he was clenching his teeth. He made himself relax and tried to keep sewing.

"C'mon, Ishida, I swear I won't laugh," Kurosaki urged. "What'd he do? Use a scalpel?"

"Shit!" Ishida cursed and dropped his needle, then grabbed the finger from which a bright drop of blood was welling. Both his hands were trembling so hard he could barely keep his grip, and he was starting to feel light headed. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, at the same time trying to banish the image of his grandfather's mutilated corpse from his mind's eye.

"Ishida! What the fuck? Are you okay?" Before Ishida could answer, Kurosaki's hands were wrapping around his, steadying them. For a moment Ishida had the strange impression that Kurosaki had embraced him; he seemed to feel a gentle pressure around his shoulders, but the other boy's hands never left his. When his breathing was closer to normal, Kurosaki released his hands just before he could pull them away.

"Sorry," Ichigo said, still looking at Ishida's hands. "I guess I shouldn't have brought that up, huh? I heard that guy is kind of a sick fuck, but—."

"Kurosaki, just leave it." Ishida snapped. Bad enough that he'd been reminded of the incident, but to lose it like that in front of the Shinigami? He ground his teeth, hating his own weakness.

Ichigo watched him for a few moments. "You gonna be okay?"

"Fine," Ishida lied. Kurosaki was still studying him with eyes that were very un-Kurosaki-like – calm and assessing. Ishida found that almost as disturbing as his memories from the battle. He disguised a stray tremor by shaking his hair off his face, then reached for his sewing. "Kurosaki, I—I have to finish this, so—."

There were three perfect drops of blood on the edge of his white mantle. He stared at the ruined garment, let out a breath, then crumpled it and threw it to the far side of the work table. He stood up and scanned the shelves, looking for more white fabric, and was half way to getting it when he felt hands grip his shoulders and draw him back.

"Hey, hey, whoa," Kurosaki said, speaking to him like he was a nervous horse, guiding him back to the work table. "It's getting dark out there," he said, nodding toward the windows where the last of the sunlight gleamed. "You're not going to have enough light to sew by anyway. You can start again in the morning, right?"

Kurosaki was being far too calm and making far too much sense, and it was really getting on Ishida's nerves. He pulled away from the Shinigami and jerked one shoulder out of his grasp.

"Don't treat me like a child, Kurosaki," he snapped, pushing up his glasses. "If you came here for some purpose, would you please state it and leave? I'd—really prefer to be alone right now."

"Ah, sure," Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head and looking only vaguely perturbed by Ishida's outburst. "I really just came by to show you something. It's—well, I thought you might be interested, you know?"

"I'm really not in the mood, Kurosaki," Ishida grumbled.

"Five minutes, okay?" Ichigo offered. "All you have to do is just stand there, alright? And close your eyes."

Ishida glared at the Shinigami, then took a breath and complied. After a few moments, he frowned. "Kurosaki, what am I supposed to be—." His words cut off as a wave of light pressure rolled slowly over him, making him catch his breath. His eyes flew open in shock.

"Hey, no looking!" said Kurosaki. Something gently stroked Ishida's eyelids shut, and another slightly stronger swell of sensation washed over him. It was like being rocked by warm, heavy water – an ocean with currents of pressure that held him upright without force or stress, moving with and against his body. He tried to ask what was going on – even tried to be vexed about it – but the waves that rocked him in place were washing even his curiosity away.

"You can open your eyes now, if you want." He did, only to see Kurosaki sitting on one of the worktables a few feet away. He looked rather pleased with himself.

"What's going—on?" Ishida gasped, his eyes fluttering. "Is this—no—can't be—."

"Reiatsu manipulation?" Kurosaki grinned. Ishida's eyes sprang wide.

"You?" Ishida couldn't believe it. Kurosaki was doing—this? "How?" he gasped.

"Ah," Kurosaki said, standing up from the table and stepping toward Ishida. "As to that, remember the day you challenged me?" It seemed almost a lifetime ago to Ishida, but it wasn't like he could forget. "About the first thing you did was tell me that there were a lot of things I didn't know about being a Shinigami," Kurosaki continued. He was rubbing the back of his neck and looking just a bit uncomfortable. "I thought you were just being a prick about it – and actually, you were, you know – but it turns out that you were also right."

Ishida wondered if he were dreaming. Kurosaki was holding him in place with his spiritual pressure, and now he was admitting that Ishida had been right. Could this be real?

"I got a crash course in a lot of that stuff when I started training with old Sandal-Hat," Ichigo went on. "Then I got another crash course here in Soul Society."

"You—learned this here?" Ishida hated how breathless his voice sounded, but felt too relaxed to care that much.

"More or less," Kurosaki admitted. He cocked his head at Ishida, who was starting to feel dizzy, as if he'd been in a steam room too long. "Huh. You look like you've had about enough of that for now." Ishida didn't protest as Kurosaki reached out, took him by the shoulders and disengaged him simply by pulling him into his arms. The web of reiatsu supporting him vanished, and he collapsed against Kurosaki, unable to stand on his own.

"You okay?" Kurosaki asked, boosting him up a bit.

"I can't stand up." Ishida's voice was muffled by Kurosaki's shoulder. He should have been embarrassed, even outraged, at sagging helplessly in Ichigo's arms like that, but he wasn't. It was just one more thing that made him question whether this was all really happening.

"You'll be fine in a few minutes," Ichigo told him. "Till then," he added, sinking to his knees with Ishida, "floors and walls are good."

Ishida had to agree as Kurosaki settled him against the wall. Across from him, the windows were darkening as the sun went down, and the sewing room was filling with shadows.

"That—that was what you wanted you wanted to show me?" Ishida asked as the other boy knelt in front of him. They were almost knee to knee.

"Part of it, yeah."

"You mean—there's more?" Ishida was still finding it hard to grasp that Kurosaki had learned even one technique like that.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable again. "Except, not all of it is 'show', exactly. Some of it is—I guess, some of it is more like 'tell'."

"Show and Tell?" Ishida was glad he could at least still roll his eyes. "That's tragic, Kurosaki."

"That kinda depends on the story, don't you think?"

Ishida peered at the boy across from him. He seemed relaxed, but Ishida sensed an underlying tension, as if he was unsure about something. "There's a story?" he asked.

Ichigo made a face. "Yeah, there is," he said, but then didn't continue. Ishida started to feel his usual Kurosaki-induced frustration return.

"Kurosaki, if you have something to say," Ishida said, "stop sitting there like some half-witted sphinx, waiting for me to ask the right questions. Just tell me!"

For the first time since he had walked into the sewing room, Kurosaki seemed to hesitate. He considered the floor for a moment, then looked up and met Ishida's eyes.

"Okay," he nodded, then took a breath. "Here goes. Once, there were these two guys. They might have been friends, except that one of 'em was a prissy Quincy and the other was an idiot Shinigami, so they fought and argued a lot more than normal guys. Then one day, after a really big, really stupid fight, the Shinigami saved the Quincy's butt, and then the Quincy saved the Shinigami's life." Ichigo paused for a moment, almost as if he expected Ishida to say something, but Ishida didn't make a sound and he went on.

"After that happened, somehow they ended up alone on a roof together, and – big surprise – they started arguing. And I probably should have said this earlier, but the Shinigami? He was absolute crap at controlling his reiatsu; and even worse at controlling his temper.

"Now, here's where it gets complicated." Kurosaki sighed. He looked at his knees rather than at Ishida, his face settling into a scowl of concentration. "Deep down," he said slowly, "the Shinigami wanted to kiss the Quincy; and maybe, deep down, the Quincy wanted to kiss the Shinigami, too. The Shinigami didn't really _know_ he wanted to kiss the Quincy, but— his reiatsu sure did. In fact, it thought it would be a great idea, so it harassed the Quincy till he couldn't take it anymore, and grabbed the Shinigami and kissed him." Ichigo paused, then glanced up at Ishida. "Know what happened then?"

"No idea," Ishida deadpanned.

"Well," Ichigo continued, looking away again, "the Shinigami liked it when the Quincy kissed him. In fact, he liked it so much that he started to get one hell of a hard-on, and for some stupid reason—that scared him. So, instead of grabbing the Quincy and kissing him back like he should have done, the Shinigami freaked out and smacked the Quincy so hard he bounced about 10 feet, then called him a weirdo and ditched him. The idiot Shinigami ran home and spent the rest of the night hiding in his room, trying to ignore his hard-on so he wouldn't have to whack off thinking about the Quincy. But then he couldn't take it anymore, so he did. In the shower. Twice.

"So," Kurosaki said, not quite daring to look Ishida in the eye, but giving him a sidelong look. "How was that?"

"Pretty tragic," Ishida assessed. He tried to keep his tone even and prayed that Kurosaki couldn't hear the way his heart was pounding. "So was that—the end?"

Kurosaki chewed his lip, then looked down. "I don't think so," he said. He scooted forward until their knees touched.

Ishida glanced down at their conjoined knees. "In that case," Ishida ventured, "what do you think happened?"

"I think," Kurosaki said slowly, "that the Shinigami found out that he had a lot to learn: about life, about being a Shinigami, and—about what he really wanted." He looked up then and met Ishida's eyes. "I think he also figured out what an idiot he'd been; and how bad he'd fucked up. And I know that if he could do it over again – if he got a second chance – it wouldn't go down the way it did that day on the roof. Because back then, there was a hell of a lot that idiot Shinigami didn't know. But he knows it now."

Ishida swallowed. "A second chance."

"Yeah," Ichigo whispered. He leaned in close; so close that Ishida could feel his breath ghosting over his cheek and the hum of power just beneath his skin. "A second chance. A do-over. I know the Shinigami doesn't really deserve it, but..."

Somehow, even though he hadn't consciously made the decision, Ishida found himself leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Kurosaki's mouth. He stopped, surprised, when Ichigo reached up and laid his fingers against his lips.

"Just one thing," he said. "Just one difference. This time—I want to be the one kissing you." Ichigo was so close that Ishida's head was almost spinning. He saw Ichigo's gaze flick from his eyes to his mouth and back up. He took his hand away from Ishida's lips. "Just don't hit me, okay?" he asked, and then he leaned in and kissed him.

For a moment, it was just Kurosaki's rough, chapped lips balanced against Ishida's waiting mouth and nothing more, but then Ishida remembered to breathe. He parted his lips with a small sigh, Kurosaki tilted his head and slid his tongue inside, and then both boys were moaning into the kiss as they reached out, clutching at hair and fabric to drag each other closer.

_Just one difference,_ Kurosaki had said, but this kiss was nothing like the first one. This one came with a dizzying surge, with their tongues sweeping against each other, hot and urgent, with Kurosaki's fingers digging into Ishida's arms, and with their bodies shifting, rising, stumbling, awkward as colts as they fell against each other and went down.

Ishida didn't feel the floor or the wall or even the side of the table he hit as they tumbled and thrashed. For him, there was nothing but Kurosaki: nothing but the heat of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the pinch of his fingers holding his hair too tight, the intoxicating weight of his hard-muscled body, and the rasp of his breath as he panted into Ishida's mouth, murmuring "Uryuu—god, Uryuu!" between fevered kisses.

Ishida wanted to kiss him back, wanted to breathe his name into his skin like that, but it was all he could do just to clench his fists in Kurosaki's robes and hang on – hang on to Kurosaki, hang on to consciousness – because it wasn't just Kurosaki's lips and hands and voice driving him wild. It was Kurosaki's reiatsu, too; wrapping around Ishida like another pair of arms, another set of hands, another mouth, shadowing his every move. For every kiss and nip and caress that Kurosaki bestowed, there was another in its wake, amplifying each shock of pleasure, refusing to let him come down.

"Fuck, Uryuu!" Kurosaki was whimpering against his throat, repeating his name and punctuating it with bites on his collarbone. Somehow he'd pulled Ishida's robe open and was twirling a nipple between callused fingers, sending sharp twinges of pleasure straight to his groin. Ishida wanted to beg him to slow down, tell him it was too much, that he couldn't even process all the sensations that were ricocheting through his body, but it was no use. The fierce pleasure had stolen his voice, and all he could do was pant and whimper and twist to no avail, because Kurosaki had him pressed to the floor.

"Uryuu," he moaned again, kissing his way down the dip in his chest. "Wanted this—wanted you so much! After the Menos—wanted to touch you—feel you—yes!"

_Yes!_ Ishida wanted to echo, because those could have been his words, but Kurosaki's mouth was moving lower and suddenly it felt like the center had been pulled right out of Ishida's body. Kurosaki tongue was drilling into his navel as he sucked at the sensitive flesh of his stomach, and it was _too much too much too much_ for Ishida to take. He let out a wail, his muscles contracting so hard that he sat up and grabbed Kurosaki's head, trying to pull him off. The wild, orange hair was softer than Ishida had expected, and even while writhing from an overload of sensation, Ishida still could wonder how that hair would feel against his hip, against his thighs.

"Ah! Easy, easy," Ichigo was whispering, now rubbing soothing circles on Ishida's belly. Ishida whimpered and fell back, chest heaving, his heart just starting to slow, but then Kurosaki's hand stroked lower, and lower still. Ishida's hips bucked up and a cry caught in his throat, because now Kurosaki's hand was on his prick, cupping it through the cloth, kneading it, spreading his hand to try to get all of it in his grip. It was the most indecently wonderful thing Ishida had ever felt, and he tried to take in every part of it in – the electric twinge in his nipples, twist behind his balls, the dizziness as the blood rushed down to thicken his cock.

"You're hard!" Ichigo groaned, almost as if it surprised him. "God—so hard! You want it—you want it, don't you?" Kurosaki's panting was driving Ishida almost as wild as the way he was gripping his cock, because yes, god yes, he did want it – wanted Kurosaki to keep touching him; wanted whatever Kurosaki thought he wanted. He thrust into the firm pressure of Kurosaki's grip, needing more, but then felt Ichigo moving. The hand didn't leave his cock, but Ishida shivered when he felt anxious breath against his neck, and Ichigo's lips against his ear.

"You want me," he whispered. "You want me, don't you?" Before Ishida could summon the breath to say just how badly he did want him, Ichigo was clutching his wrist and dragging his hand down, and absolutely nothing Ishida had felt before compared to the jagged bolt of arousal that blazed through him when Kurosaki guided his hand against his rock-hard cock. "That's what you do to me," he moaned, rocking into Ishida's trembling fingers. "Make me so fucking hard!"

Kuro—Kurosaki!" Ishida gasped, because the cock pushing against his nerveless palm was huge and hard and so hot he didn't know how it hadn't burned through the hakama covering it. It throbbed against his fingers, and Ishida felt his groin tighten as his own cock leaked in sympathy. He wanted to grasp it, wanted to tear through Kurosaki's clothes and take the hard length in his hand, feel the silky slide of tender skin. He wanted to touch it, to taste it, he wanted it _inside_ him – he'd never wanted anything so much.

"Tell me you want it," Ichigo whispered, and Ishida told him the only way he could. With a wild growl, he shoved Kurosaki over and rolled on top of him, tangling their legs, mashing their mouths and erections together, panting and kissing and clawing. Their hands were everywhere, tearing at clothing, gripping hair and shoulders and hips, mouths gasping as they rocked against each other. It was so good – a crazy storm of sensation – that when he heard the deep growl in Kurosaki's throat, felt his obi yanked off and his hakama falling, the sudden connection of their cocks – hot, hard flesh to flesh – froze him.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, because it was that moment in the Rukongai all over again, and he was suddenly afraid. For a second, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart, and then Kurosaki's big, sword-callused hand was encircling both their lengths, binding them together, as his other hand reached up to cup the back of Ishida's neck and pull him down into a kiss. Ishida moaned because the wetness of Kurosaki's mouth was like the wetness of their cocks leaking together, and Kurosaki's tongue swept his mouth the same way his thumb swept over their slits, smearing the moisture over their shafts. Kurosaki shifted, sliding his prick against Ishida's, vein to sensitive vein, and Ishida heard himself whimper into Kurosaki's mouth. His balls were already tightening, his slit was leaking a steady stream; he didn't want it to end, but he was already so close – maybe he'd been this close all along.

"Ichigo," he gasped, rolling his hips, his face hot. "Ichigo, I—."

"No," Ichigo panted, pushing him up. "You can't—not yet!" Before Ishida could protest, Kurosaki was sitting up, wrapping his arms around Ishida, and shifting backwards. "Wait," Kurosaki was saying. "Just wait!" He gripped Ishida hard by the hips, boosted him up, and pulled him forward.

"Kurosaki!" Thrown off balance, Ishida didn't understand what Kurosaki was doing, but then it didn't matter because his reiatsu was there, steadying Ishida as it pulled him upright. "What?" he gasped, looking down to see that Kurosaki's head and shoulders were now propped against the wall, and he was straddling Kurosaki's chest. He was gripping Ishida's hips with both hands and gazing up at him, and even in the shadows Ishida could see his parted lips, and his eyes shining, open, intent, beneath the fringe of his unruly hair. Ishida's dick was hard and upright, dripping onto Kurosaki's bare chest, and he caught his breath when he felt something constrict behind his balls.

"Come here," Ichigo said in a voice that made Ishida's stomach flip, then he hauled his hips forward, opened his mouth and sucked in the full length of Ishida's cock.

Something bright and burning exploded behind Ishida's eyes, and he would have collapsed and come at the same moment if Kurosaki's spiritual pressure hadn't prevented both. As it was, he reeled and fell forward, throwing his hands against the wall to brace himself, staring down open mouthed at Ichigo's face buried in his groin, nose pressing into the faint trail of dark hair on his pelvis, his lips around the base of his cock. Kurosaki pulled back slowly, tongue sliding on the underside of Ishida's shaft until just the head was in his mouth, then swallowed the length once again, and Ishida trembled and dug his nails into the wall because it felt so warm and wet and good. The pressure in his balls was increasing, the discomfort of it a counterpoint to the pleasure of Ichigo's mouth, but when he tried to say something, to beg Ichigo to end it, all that came out at first was a ragged sob.

Sweat was running down Ishida's body, droplets of it falling on Ichigo and sliding over his skin, but Ichigo was strangely, unusually patient, his mouth sliding on Ishida's cock in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Please!" Ishida finally managed, the word bursting out in a gasp. "Kurosaki—Ichigo! Please! I have to—have to—god!" Tears were starting to sting his eyes, because it was too much, it was all just too much. He saw Kurosaki's eyes watching him, peering up from under spikes of his hair, and he slowly pulled off Ishida's cock. Ishida swallowed as he watched him drag a finger through the pre-come on his chest, then slide his hand between Ishida's legs, briefly cupping his swollen balls before pushing behind them. Ishida bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly as he felt Kurosaki's finger slid into his cleft and rub the moisture onto his tight hole.

"Uryuu," he whispered, the desire in his voice making the space just under Ishida's heart clench. "Uryuu," he said again, just as he pushed his finger in, moving it gently, going deeper.

"Yes!" Ishida cried out, pounding a fist on the wall as his head fell forward, because he knew what Kurosaki wanted, knew what he was asking. "Yes, please, yes!" he sobbed, and he felt Ichigo's mouth close around his cock again, just as his finger crooked inside him and rubbed against a spot that made sharp, almost painful shocks surge through his body. "Please!" he begged again, his voice almost gone, and when he felt the constriction ease just as Ichigo pressed hard on that spot inside him, Ishida came so hard he nearly doubled over. His hips slammed forward as his cock spurted, and he heard Ichigo's head thump against the wall, but he couldn't stop himself, couldn't keep his hips from rocking and thrusting as the release ripped through him. He heard – felt – Kurosaki moaning around his cock, but it sounded distant, and when Ishida felt the last of his semen pulse onto that hot tongue, not even Kurosaki's reiatsu could keep him upright. Dazed, torn, empty, he slumped against the wall in front of him and fell to the side.

He didn't pass out, but the shadowed room spun around him, and it wasn't until he felt movement and saw Kurosaki bending over him that he started to come back to himself. His body was still echoing with the aftershocks of his climax, and he wasn't sure he could speak, but it didn't seem to matter. Kurosaki looked down at him without saying anything, but reached out to touch Ishida's face. Ishida kissed his fingers when they grazed his lips, and Kurosaki closed his eyes at that. His face was tense, his hair was damp, and Ishida could see the sheen of sweat on his body as he knelt between his legs, naked and gorgeous and fiercely aroused. Ishida had never seen anything so beautiful or anything he wanted more.

As Ishida watched, Ichigo bent his head and spit something into his cupped hand. A bit of it dripped from his fingers, pale and sticky, as Ichigo reached down and began to smear it on his cock, and Ishida felt an impossible pang of arousal when he realized it was his own come.

"I want you," Kurosaki said, gazing at Ishida as he coated his stiff cock. "I want to get inside you so bad." He moved closer, still stroking, pushing Ishida's knees apart, and Ishida tilted his hips up and let his head fall back, because that was what he wanted, too. He groaned as he felt Kurosaki fingering his ass, stroking his come onto his tight opening. He opened his eyes when he felt his knees gripped hard, felt Kurosaki lifting his legs. Rough lips placed a kiss on his thigh, then Kurosaki hooked his legs over his arms and leaned into him, his thick cock sliding against Ishida's cleft.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you?" Ichigo whispered. His face was so intent, so strained with need that he looked almost cruel, and in response, Ishida reached up and pulled him down until Ichigo's face was against his.

"Fuck me," Ishida murmured into his ear, pushing his fingers into the soft, sweaty hair. "Show me, Kurosaki. Fuck me."

"Uryuu—god!" Ichigo panted. "You—." Ishida never knew what he might have said because he leaned in and bit Ichigo's neck, and the moment he did, Kurosaki growled like a wild thing, shoved Ishida's knees into his shoulders, and drove his hard cock into his ass.

Ishida's body went rigid with shock, but he didn't cry out. There was pain. There was a sharp ache and a strange burn and the unbearable feeling of being stretched to the point of breaking. There was the dizzying sense of being invaded and possessed – that the cock inside him and the guy who'd put it there now somehow owned him. But there was also the look on Kurosaki's face: the wide eyes, the open, gasping mouth, the expression of someone who'd attacked only to find himself overcome. As Ishida watched, Kurosaki closed his eyes and took a short, hitching breath. A drop of sweat fell from his face onto Ishida's neck.

"Ichigo," Ishida murmured, shifting just the slightest bit beneath him and wincing. "Ichigo, move."

Eyes still closed, Ichigo dropped his head so that his hair grazed Ishida's cheek, took a breath, then pulled out a little and slid back in. He did it again, and again, not speaking or even groaning until the two of them were rocking against each other in a halting rhythm. Ishida bit his lip and held tighter as Kurosaki started to speed up, the thrust and friction sending odd surges into his body; not quite pleasure, not quite pain. Their breathing became louder and harsher, their movements more urgent. Ichigo let go of one of Ishida's legs so he could touch his hair, so he could lean closer and kiss him.

"Fuck, Uryuu," he shuddered, pressing their foreheads together as his thrusts deepened. "I don't know why I need you so bad—but I do," he gasped. "I do. Ever since the Menos—couldn't stop thinking about you. Driving me—fucking crazy."

Ishida whimpered, wanting to tell him it was the same for him, but Ichigo's thrusts were coming too fast and deep for Ishida to get his breath. Ichigo's cock was hitting something inside him, over and over, and it felt like he was being wound tighter and tighter as they fucked.

"I could feel you," Ichigo panted, kissing Ishida between words and breaths. "My reiatsu—inside you. You took it in—saved me—and I could feel it. Like I was inside you—going through you—hot and tight and crazy. Just like this—God, Uryuu! Just like this. So good. So—fucking—good!"

"Ichigo!" Ishida cried out, panting and starting to struggle beneath him. "Ichigo—please!" He had no idea what he was asking for, but it didn't seem to matter. Kurosaki shifted and freed his other leg, and Ishida immediately wrapped them both around his waist.

"Fuck!" Kurosaki grunted as Ishida arched up to meet his thrusts, and he started pounding into him faster and harder. "This is—what I wanted," he was gasping, holding Ishida so tight and fucking him so hard he could barely breathe. "You—just like this! God, Uryuu—I can't—can't stop! I'm gonna—gonna—Uryuu!"

Ichigo's back arched as he slammed into Ishida a final time, hips tensing as he shuddered in release. Ishida's eyes flew open and his head snapped back as Ichigo came, because it wasn't just his muscles seizing and his cock gushing inside him. It was more.

"Ichigo!" Ishida gasped, just before the surge of Kurosaki's reiatsu crashed through him like a storm driven wave, sweeping everything in its path. He felt his body responding, muscles tensing, nerves tingling, felt the delicious spasm in his groin as a double orgasm hit – his own and Kurosaki's – and his cock spilled, untouched, all over his belly. He felt Kurosaki's reiatsu flooding even the charred places inside him where his powers had burned out in their own fire, and just like everything seemed to be with Kurosaki, it was too much – too hard, too good, too painful to take it all in – and Ishida turned away, trying to escape, stumbling, falling and sinking beneath the surface.

"Ishida!"

He blinked, then blinked again because it was rather dark. Something was above him, but he couldn't quite make it out. A face. Scowling.

"Kurosaki? Is that...?"

"Ah, your glasses! Sorry. Here. They fell off when—well, at the end." He felt his frames set back on his face, and there indeed was Kurosaki hovering over him, scowling and naked in the moonlight.

Naked...

Ishida sat up, then fell back, wishing he hadn't. His entire body was throbbing. He was stiff and sore and felt quite ill used, and there was a strange, uncomfortable burn in his tender regions. When he reached down to check things out, he realized he was naked, too.

And then it all came back to him.

"Oh god," he moaned.

"Hey, hey, are you alright?"

Kurosaki sounded worried, and when he opened his eyes again, Ishida saw that he looked worried, too. He also looked tousled and sweaty and sticky and—beautiful. Kurosaki leaned over him and laid a hand on his cheek, and it felt so good, Ishida couldn't resist turning his head just enough to graze his lips on the edge of his hand. Kurosaki's face brightened with a ridiculous smile. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Ishida's mouth, then stayed to kiss some more. Ishida found his arms winding around Kurosaki's shoulders, and when Kurosaki sat up, Ishida came with him.

"I'm sorry," Kurosaki said, settling Ishida's back against his chest and placing another kiss on the side of his neck. It was a little weird, being held and kissed like this, but Ishida decided he could probably get used to it. "I shouldn't have been so rough with you."

"It's okay," Ishida sighed. "I've had worse." Even with the sore and abused places on his body, he still felt pretty good, relaxed and tingly. And there were some places that felt even better.

"Yeah, I can see that," Kurosaki said, tracing a finger along the healing scar that ran from his chest across his shoulder. Ashishogi Jizou had done that and more besides. "You really did get messed up, didn't you?"

"Not as bad as you," Ishida insisted, and because he didn't want to talk about it, he turned in Kurosaki's arms and kissed him. Kurosaki held Ishida's face and made a pleased sound as their tongues pressed together. His reiatsu hummed around them, ever present, but now it was more of a relaxed purr than a dissonant presence; a contented cat instead of an ill-behaved, inquisitive dog. Their kiss deepened, and Ishida pressed closer, feeling a faint surge of warmth as his hands roved over the sinewy planes of Kurosaki's back and shoulders. He felt something nudge his thigh, then nudge again, harder. He reached down and a rush of arousal flickered through him when he touched the other boy's half-hard cock.

"You're incorrigible, Kurosaki," he huffed, but his words didn't have much heat, since Kurosaki's hand had moved down and was currently fondling his own not-uninterested dick.

"Speak for yourself," the Shinigami grinned, then ducked his head to lap at one of Ishida's nipples.

"Kurosaki," he groaned, grabbing the boy's head. It felt good, and he didn't really want him to stop, but he didn't want things getting out of hand. There were parts of him – his ass, mainly – that really needed a bit of a rest. "Kurosaki—ahh! We can't—."

"Nobody's going to come," he murmured, lifting his face. His hand was still between Ishida's legs, gently cupping his balls, and Ishida was loathe to tell him to stop. "If Chad and Inoue are at the 8th Division, they won't be back till late."

"I know," Ishida said. He reached down and put his hand on Kurosaki's wrist. "It's just—I don't think I can. Right now."

Kurosaki paused, then gave an amused snort. "Dumbass. We don't have to do _that_." He reached around and gave one of Ishida's cheeks a squeeze. "Besides," he grinned, gently pushing Ishida down on a pile of their discarded clothes. "I owe you for being such an idiot before. In fact, I probably owe you for a lot of things."

Ishida decided he wasn't going to argue with that. He watched as Kurosaki snagged a floor pillow from under one of the work tables, dropped it behind him, then knelt in front of Ishida with a mischievous grin.

"So, relax," he said, nudging Ishida's chest until he lay back on the pillow. Despite his misgivings, Ishida's arousal was growing as he watched Kurosaki settle between his legs. "It's my fault you got mixed up in this whole mess anyway," he added, his breath warm against the insides of Ishida's thighs. "It wouldn't kill you to just let me be nice to you sometimes, right?"

Actually, Ishida wasn't sure that Kurosaki being 'nice' to him wouldn't kill him, either now or eventually, but he supposed that was just a consequence of being part of Kurosaki Ichigo's life. As much as he might once have disagreed with the idea, it was probably better than the alternative. His life had certainly been quieter before Kurosaki had noticed him, but....

No, Ishida decided, closing his eyes as he felt Kurosaki's hands slide up his thighs and his warm mouth close over the head of his cock, this was _definitely_ better than the alternative.

~FIN~


End file.
